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by MuffinLove03
Summary: It was a day that none of them would ever forget as the rest of the world watched in horror. Based on the events of 9/11. AXH, GXP
1. Chapter 1

**[A/N: Hi guys! So, I just want to say first and foremost that I have NOT abandoned my other stories but as usual, I had an idea I just had to get out and I anticipate this story not taking as long to get through as my other ones.**

 **I do want to be clear - this story is based on the events of 9/11. I'm doing my best to combine historical accuracy with fiction so we'll see how it works out! Either way, I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter and stick around for this. Also, please review and let me know what you think. Feedback is always welcome, helpful, and motivating!**

 **Without further ado, here we go...**

 **D/C: I don't own Hey Arnold!]**

 _ **Helga**_

I have mixed feelings about fall. On one hand, I love the weather. The leaves begin to turn beautiful shades of crimson, amber, and gold, and the air becomes more crisp and fresh - a reprieve from summer's heat. I know girls from high school who were, and still are, obsessed with the pumpkin-flavored lattes down at Richmond's café and going apple-picking at the family-owned orchard just outside of Hillwood but I just don't get why they _freak out_ over the season. Yeah, the weather is beautiful and some great limited edition flavors come out around this time but some of the girls I went to high school with take it to another level.

The downside to the season, however, is it means starting another school year and saying goodbye to sweet freedom. At least for fifteen weeks. Don't get me wrong - I feel good about the path I'm on but what person in their right mind ever enjoys giving up their free time to sit around in classes and do pre-requisite work? No one. Exactly.

I've been working part-time at a bookstore in Hillwood but my hours always drop when the semester starts so I can focus primarily on my classes. My paycheck becomes spending money and I support my other expenses with financial aid. I'm in my second year at Hillwood Community College and plan on transferring to NYU next fall. It made sense to get pre-req's outta the way beforehand since NYU ain't cheap and I didn't want to hear my dad complaining about extra loans on his dime. In a perfect world, I wouldn't need to rely on him for shit. He may help me out with what I need financially but most people just don't understand that money isn't everything. He puts all this money into my tuition payments but he doesn't think I'll be successful with an English degree. He just scoffed at the idea and started going on and on about how _Olga_ is at least _contributing to society,_ even if teachers make shit pay. So, I'm convinced the only reason he's supporting my schooling now is so he can throw it in my face later if I can't find work. Which is why I need to make myself a competitive applicant and why I took an internship at a news company in lower Manhattan this fall. I had my first week last week and didn't really do much yet - making coffee and organizing their files isn't exactly what I had in mind but if it makes me more attractive to NYU, then I'll deal with it. The drive downtown sucks, though. Mapsearch says it's a 15-20 minute drive one-way without traffic… _without_ traffic. I learned that the hard way last week when I tried taking my dad's car and ended up an hour late. The company has a partnership with a parking garage a block away such that you don't have to pay for parking (and believe me, you can spend a pretty penny trying to park downtown), but the commute just isn't worth it so I've been taking the subway instead. Maybe I've been spoiled since HCC is only a couple blocks away from my house and I could walk there if I really needed to which really comes in handy when I oversleep for my morning classes. Why do 8:30 am classes even exist? Seriously? I thought I was done with that crap in high school.

I just really want to get into NYU. It's got a great reputation and some of the English professors there have actually authored books and articles that I know and like so really, nothing else compares. Besides, I want to travel for my Master's so it makes sense to keep tuition in-state as long as possible, even if I wouldn't mind going across the country right away and never coming back… I was so excited to move out as soon as I turned eighteen and then, like it usually does, life slapped me in the face with the realization that I am in no financial position to support myself _alone_ so, begrudgingly, I'm still here in Bob's house. Thankfully, he's not usually home except in the evenings and Miriam, while still enjoying "the sauce", has gotten somewhat of a hold on her drinking. Not by much, but she's gone to a couple AA meetings here and there and she meets friends for lunch once in a while. She actually struck up a friendship with this woman named Suzie who lives over in the boarding house and feels compelled to talk to me about how she knows Arnold and how we went to school together, as if there's some connection between me and _Suzie_ just because she knows _Arnold._ Pfft.

I can't wait to move out though. I'll apply to NYU, hopefully get in, and live in the dorms for most of the year except during breaks (maybe I can crash at a friend's during that time). Anything to get out, and stay out, of my parents' house is worth the effort. I keep telling myself I just have to get through one more year of this. This lack of expectation that I'll make myself into anything worthwhile or even, dare I say it? Live up to Olga's potential? Gasp. Man, what the hell ever… honestly, the prospect of just getting away from my parents (especially Bob) and proving them _wrong_ is all the motivation I need to do well. And I have been, so far. Writing and English in general have always come naturally to me. I don't know what it is. Most of the time I don't think it's a big deal because it's like, I speak this freaking language - shouldn't I be good at it? Shouldn't _everyone_ be good at it? But, apparently not. And poetry, that will be my speciality or track or whatever NYU wants to call it. I've been writing poetry as long as I can remember. Living in this house, poetry has been an outlet for me and has allowed me to express things I never could out loud or directly to another person. I just get swept up in the words, in my thoughts, like a wind blowing up a pile of leaves and as the leaves gently fall back down to the ground, so do the words appear on the page and once they've all fallen down, it is then that I have a completed poem and things just seem to make a little more sense.

Phoebe's still my best friend but I don't really click with many other girls the way I do with her. I mean, I'm not a complete social pariah - I have acquaintances and some "friends" but I have a low threshold for spending time with a lot of people. Too many of them get on my nerves so I have a sort of rotation in which I'll see a certain friend or group of people but then I need some time away from them to actually get up the desire to hang out with them again. Small doses, I say. I talk to some of them through social media and I see some of them around town so I'm not a complete hermit. There are only a handful of my childhood friends still living in Hillwood, Phoebe included. I spent most of the summer hanging out with Phoebe but she just got a full-time job about a month ago and that has made getting together difficult. For all her intelligence and potential, Phoebe didn't go to college right after high school. It's disappointing but at the same time, I can't knock her for it. Phoebe's dad was diagnosed with lung cancer during our senior year and wasn't able to work for a long time so Phoebe decided to stick around and help (despite her parents' protests). I get it though; Phoebe has _normal_ parents that actually have taken care of her and supported her. They're a pretty tight family and with the medical expenses and her dad's income temporarily gone, they would've gone completely under if not for Phoebe working. Before this summer, she was just working part-time and I think she was considering taking classes this fall but the airline offered her a full-time position with benefits and her dad hasn't been cleared for work yet so she took it. Every time we've talked about it, she's always been emphatic that she will enroll in school when the time is right but the important thing for now is making sure her family is okay and I respect that.

I wonder how Gerald feels about not seeing her as much, though. They've been dating since the middle of high school so he's one of the other people I see quite a bit. We actually somewhat get along now, considering our relationships to Phoebe. I'd like to say we've developed a snarky friendship of sorts with a sarcastic twist and a mutual respect for one another. And of course, since I see Gerald somewhat often, that means that I have been pretty much guaranteed to see Arnold around as well.

Oh, Arnold… there's a complicated situation. I loathe remembering my obsessive, childhood ways - the shrines, the vigils, the tantric spells… This is why parents need to pay attention to their children - I was a freaking basketcase! I shudder with embarrassment whenever I think about it. Maybe it was cute in childhood, maybe I just didn't know any better but over time, I realized how weird it was and as soon as I did, that was the end of that. But whatever, that's in the past. Well, part of it. I still write poetry, of course, and if I'm really being honest here, I do still have feelings for the guy and being around him more since Phoebe and Gerald got together has only made the realization more "in my face", so to speak.

I actually thought, briefly, that he _might_ have reciprocated my feelings back in high school. During our senior year, Phoebe and Gerald had yet to learn the concept of balancing a committed relationship with their friendships so if anyone wanted to hang out with either of them, they came as a package duo. This meant a lot of time spent as a foursome with Gerald and Phoebe playing lovebirds on one end of the table and me and Arnold awkwardly sitting on the other side. But what felt awkward at first - having to pay witness to Gerald and Phoebe making eyes at one another and the sweet talk they only _thought_ no one else could hear - turned into a shared experience for me and Arnold in which we were able to make jokes and compare stories about how over-the-moon our best friends had become. As we gradually spent more time around each other, alone and as a group, I started wondering if Arnold had begun to flirt with me here and there. I always dismissed it because it had to just be my imagination. I'd had an off-and-on crush on the guy (there had been several points over the years in which I tried to get over him or force myself to like someone else but neither ever worked) for almost my entire life. His face is etched into my retinas, his voice embroidered along my eardrum. When you pine for someone that long, you can imagine anything.

 _ **Arnold**_

The longer I'm here, the more I feel like this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing, even though it's only been a few weeks. I'm working for a financial institution downtown and I can already tell that this isn't for me. Gerald's dad pulled some strings with a colleague in order to get me an interview and I guess they were impressed - either that, or really desperate for a low-level employee. I've taken a few community college economics classes but only because the responsibility of the boarding house finances has kind of fallen on my shoulders. My grandma passed away a few years ago and while it wasn't much, her social security did help pay for things around the house. Grandpa's not as spry as he used to be and can't really do repairs anymore so we've needed to pay more outside people to fix things when they break. That, plus the debt from Grandma's funeral expenses and not having as many tenants anymore, put the boarding house in a sticky situation financially. I took over the books for Grandpa and managed to get us _almost_ into the black again but it became obvious that getting a job and working as much as possible was going to be the only way to really set things straight. I guess I can't complain too much. Even if I have no interest in this field for a career, they're still paying me well considering I have no experience outside of Econ 101 and 102 and running my grandparents' boarding house.

On the bright side, Gerald gave me some pretty exciting news last night - he's going to ask Phoebe to marry him! He said he plans on taking her to dinner tonight and that's when he'll ask her. They've been together for years and honestly, I saw this coming a long time ago. Gerald's been smitten with her since we were kids and honestly, I get the feeling Phoebe felt the same way. I've spent a lot of time around them and it's like they can't get enough of each other. Thankfully, they don't take that _literally_ anymore. It used to be that I never got to hang out with Gerald unless Phoebe was there, too. Don't get me wrong, Phoebe's great. But it just wasn't really the same. Sometimes Helga would be there, too and we talked about it - she felt the same way I did about the whole situation and to my surprise, we actually started getting along. We've always been good at commiserating together but eventually, we stopped talking as much about what we didn't like about the situation and our conversations turned more general.

Helga's changed so much since we were kids, even if she doesn't like to admit it. Even as a kid, I knew there was more to Helga than she was showing and I don't know what changed - maybe it's just something that happens as we grow up - but she became more relaxed and she was actually nice to me (though we didn't see each other nearly as much as we did when we were kids). Maybe that's what helped - not seeing each other as much? I don't know, but either way, I was grateful. I don't think I could have handled many more insulting nicknames or spitballs thrown into my hair.

I still wonder something about her, though. When we were kids she told me that she loved me and I mean, _loved_ me. I remember something about poetry and shrines and a huge kiss that left me completely stunned. All of this in the midst of me trying to save the neighborhood so the specifics of the memory are a little fuzzy but certain details stand out - the look on her face when she was holding me, the feeling of her lips covering my own, the stormclouds rolling in from the horizon, and what felt like butterflies' wings beating against the inside of my stomach. By the time we got to high school, she was so much more mellow than she used to be, even if she was still sarcastic and sometimes rude. And to be frank, it was no secret that Helga was like the neighborhood example of the "ugly duckling" story. Though I never thought she was ugly (I already know she'd kill me if she heard me making this reference), she wasn't the typical "girly-girl". She was rough and had a unibrow and when we were kids, she was often covered in dirt and scrapes, all the while kicking our asses in football, baseball - pretty much any sport. Then by the time we got to high school, she had completely transformed. I don't know how to describe it but a lot of the guys in our school took notice. Admittedly, she is _very_ beautiful but again, I wouldn't say this to her face either because she'd probably just make some rude joke or hit me for "sounding mushy", I don't know. I can never predict how Helga is going to react to anything.

I actually developed "a thing" for Helga back in high school, during our senior year. We'd been hanging out a lot since Phoebe and Gerald were spending almost all of their free time together and it was actually nice getting to know Helga better. Like I said, she got a lot more mellow with time and it was easier to talk to her than it had been when we were kids. There were still times that she'd shut down or lash out if she really didn't want to talk about something but she seemed more open to at least having a friendship with me. I can't tell you how or when it happened or if there was anything that specifically played a role in it but I eventually developed a small crush on her and to my surprise, I even flirted with her (a bold decision, I think, considering I knew she had a mean left hook). It was weird, though; sometimes when I flirted with her, she seemed to flirt back and other times it was like she didn't even notice. She wouldn't say anything or she'd change the subject. I have no idea what was going through her mind and then we went several weeks without even talking to each other so I just figured she wasn't interested.

I don't see her as much as I did in high school but I still see her somewhat often when Phoebe and Gerald want to hang out as a group. She just seems normal, like we're friends and that's okay and that's what makes sense. This morning, I unexpectedly ran into her in the elevator of my building.

"Hey, Helga!" I said, my voice a combination of surprise and interest. "What are you doing here?"

"Morning, Football-head," She mumbled, obviously still tired. Even if we'd become friends of sorts, she never dropped that nickname and I eventually just accepted it as something that would never change. "I have an internship on the millionth floor,"

"Yeah," I chuckled. There were more than a hundred floors in this building and it seemed we were both going up close to the top. "You get used to it. Just be glad you don't have to take the stairs, right?" I smiled, hoping to brighten her up. I knew she wasn't a morning person though so I didn't expect much.

"I can always count on you for the good-morning-sunshine-quote-of-the-day, huh?" She gave me a good-natured smirk, even if her eyes were still lazy and tired.

I shrugged and turned to face the elevator door, watching the numbers light up as we ascended. "If you say so,"

"So what's with the suit?" I noticed Helga gesturing as she eyed me up and down.

"Oh," I blushed, though I don't know why. "I got a new job," I shrugged again.

"Hmm," She tilted her head and gave me a quizzical look that made me suddenly very self-conscious. "Never pictured you as a stiff,"

I rolled my eyes and offered her a smirk of my own. "Yeah, well, neither did I but don't tell by boss that,"

This elicited a chuckle from the blonde and I actually felt pretty satisfied with myself. The elevator chimed, letting us know we'd reached my floor and I waited for the door to open.

"I guess I'll see you around," I smiled at her and her lips curved into a small smile as well.

"See ya around, Football-head,"

 _ **Gerald**_

I'm so glad I'm off work today because I am nervous as hell. Tonight I'm taking Phoebe to dinner at her favorite restaurant - Le Madeleine's - and I'm gonna pop the question. I still can't believe I'm doing this but at the same time, I can't believe I haven't already. We've been together since the end of our sophomore year of high school and I've known her pretty much my whole life. I feel like an idiot for not telling her how I felt sooner but the way I see it, at least I got it right in the end, even if it took me a while. She's beautiful, intelligent, and just one of the most amazing, inspiring people I've ever known. I always knew she was a good friend, considering the way she put up with Helga back in elementary school, but she just takes it to a different level that I've never known anyone else to go to. She's devoted and caring and I couldn't ask for someone more perfect. She gave up the chance to go to any university she wanted to (she had the grades and the resume to do anything, no lie) to take care of her dad because he's sick and her family is struggling with money. I know she'll go eventually but it takes a strong, incredible woman to do something like that, if you ask me. I just feel damn lucky to even know this woman, let alone be ready to ask her to marry me…

Man, if Arnold could hear this right now, I don't even know. I give him hell whenever he's gone into his mushy monologues about girls he's had feelings for so I can only imagine how much shit he'd give me for this but for real, I don't even care. Phoebe's worth whatever shit my man wants to dish out (though honestly, knowing Arnold, he never would. He's a romantic at heart and I know it). I told him about my plan last night and he was completely supportive. He even offered to help any way he could. I think I've got it all covered but I appreciate the offer, regardless. Phoebe flies back to Hillwood tonight and I'll be picking her up from the airport around seven. We'll head over to the restaurant - we have a reservation for eight - and then the impressive part of the plan comes into play. I arranged for one of the waiters to stick the ring in the top of one of their fancy cheesecakes (I read a bunch of stories online about guys proposing to their girls this way). They've got every flavor imaginable and on special occasions, they write stuff in chocolate sauce on the plate. Phoebe's a sucker for them so I know she won't protest when I order a couple slices.

So, once we get to the restaurant and we're ready for dessert, I'll excuse myself to the bathroom but actually go back to the kitchen, give the ring to the waiter, go back to our table, and wait. If all goes according to plan, the waiter will bring out a plate with Phoebe's favorite cheesecake and the words "Marry me?" written in chocolate on the plate and the ring tucked gently into the top of the slice.

I'm feeling confident that she'll say yes - I mean, why else would any dude feel like they should propose if they don't think 'yes' is a probable answer? But I'm still nervous so I'm trying to just chill out at home. My sleep schedule is all messed up from work so that's why I'm awake at 8 in the morning. I'm hoping I at least get the time to take a nap before I gotta get ready and pick up Phoebe. I dunno whether I want time to speed up or slow down but these nerves are gonna kill me if I don't chill. So I'll just try and relax and if I can fall back asleep then I'm down.

 _ **Phoebe**_

I've been up for hours now but that last cup of coffee has given me a second wind. I'm expected to report to work at all hours of the day or night and my schedule often changes, making it quite a challenge to get adequate rest.

I hope I'm not too tired for my dinner with Gerald tonight. It's been a couple of days since I've seen him and a week since we've had more than an hour's time together so this will be much welcomed. I'm off work tomorrow so I'll even be able to sleep in which is a rarity these days.

My father is still at home, awaiting notification from his oncologist as to when it would be wise for him to return to work. He has been on a leave of absence since his condition deteriorated to such a point that he was unable to work but during that time, he was not being paid and as such, I took this job to help support my family. I still live in my parents' home and I'm fine with this as it allows me to be there for them as needed and we are quite close. My situation is in significant contrast to Helga's as she can't wait to leave her childhood home and I am reluctant to do so, even with my father's cancer having gone into remission.

Our flight will be boarding soon so I should try to drink another cup of coffee and prepare for that. In terms of energy expenditure, demonstrating the proper way in which to put on a seatbelt when you have only had five hours of sleep seems less like a demonstration and more like a one-woman circus but once that's over and we're in the air, I have just over five hours to relax before we arrive in L.A.

 _ **Helga**_

"Good morning, Helga," Linda, one of the administrative assistants, greets me as I walk into the office, still running through my interaction with Arnold in my head. I had played it cool but I had no idea he was working in the same building… Then again, hell, these buildings are so gigantic he might as well be in a different part of the city.

"Hi, Linda," I chime in my most upbeat, professional voice as I head over to my cubicle. It is the most generic thing you've ever seen and it's obvious that they expect a quick turn-over at this particular station. I wonder how many interns or short-term employees have called this desk their temporary home. There's a computer, a phone, and a drawer full of random office supplies but other than that, it's virtually empty. There's a folder on the end of the desk with some of the papers I left here last week (I didn't work yesterday) but other than that, nothing about this cubicle gives any indication that I work here.

I'm actually only one cubicle in a sea of them. From my vantage point at my desk, I can see one of the production assistants sitting at her desk on the other side of the office but other than that, the office seems to be a maze of cubicle walls with voices, beeps, and buzzing sounds all around me but no clear idea of where they're coming from or who's speaking to who.

It's not the greatest internship and I have been pretty bored so far but I have to admit, my favorite thing so far is the view. I'm up on the 89th floor and the office, - well, the whole building, really - has these incredible windows that are almost as tall as the room itself and they span the entire length of one of the walls in our office. I've already made a habit of going over to them and looking down at the city below. I'm not really afraid of heights but when you realize how high up you are, I think anyone would feel a little uneasy. Still, it's really cool. Everything seems so small and slow when you're looking at it from far away. Cars are like bugs crawling around on the ground, people are grains of salt that barely seem to move.

Linda has a radio at her cubicle that she always plays early in the morning before the boss comes in at 9. Apparently, she used to have it turned to a country station but after enduring the protests of almost everyone in the office, she conceded to keeping it on a mix station instead. There isn't as much music playing right now - lots of people are still commuting to work so the radio announcer is talking about traffic patterns.

I lean back in my office chair and try to imagine what I'm going to do today. There's a woman named Janet who has been giving me most of my work so far and it seems she's my direct supervisor. She's one of the assistant producers and her boss is Marcus (the one who comes in at 9), one of the executive producers. I turn on the computer and wait for it to boot up, killing time until Janet arrives.

Linda's radio just finished playing a country song (which I'm sure she's pleased about) and I can hear the faint, muffled sound of the radio announcer's voice through our cubicle walls.

" _Good morning - 64 degrees at 8 o' clock. It's Tuesday, September 11th…"_

 **[A/N: There you have it! Please let me know what you think in the comments and if you think this is a story you would enjoy reading! I wasn't sure at first but I have so many ideas, I thought it could be fun to try. I'll try to update soon if you guys like this so far!]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello all! I'm sorry - I have been out of the writing groove for a long time. Hence why this chapter is relatively short but hey, something is better than nothing, right? I hope to continue this story, though it is challenging, of course. And I hope you enjoy it, even though it will be emotional and difficult to read at times. I'm trying to remain mostly historically accurate but with some modifications. For example, the conversation Phoebe has with operations is almost exactly the conversation Betty Ong had on the actual day.**

 **Please let me know what you think. Feedback is appreciated.**

 **D/C: I don't own Hey Arnold]**

 _ **Arnold**_

I'd just sat down at my desk when my supervisor, Ron, told me we were heading up to one of the conference rooms upstairs for a meeting. My computer had just finished booting up and I looked at the time. 8:12. I have about ten minutes before I should leave. I have to go up nineteen floors to the 106th so I'm definitely taking the elevator again. That should give me plenty of time to get to the conference before our 8:30 meeting.

There isn't much for me to do in ten minutes. I could dig into some spreadsheets I was working on yesterday but with only ten minutes to spare, I don't think it's worth it. I sigh and lean back in my office chair. It's relatively comfortable but makes an unsettling squeak when I go back past a certain point. The last thing I need is to fall out of the chair and onto the floor like an idiot - or worse, break the chair. I already feel out of place here. I'm friendly with everyone, of course, but I can't relate to any of them. I think a lot of my coworkers come from financially stable backgrounds - they've got their Master's degrees in things like Finance and Business, they live in the nice areas… Of course, I've had friends that were wealthier than I am. Rhonda Lloyd, for example. But there are two important things to consider there:

We grew up together, and

I wasn't the only kid in the neighborhood whose family didn't have a lot of money

Heck, even Helga's family was more financially comfortable than mine ever was, now that I think about it. Her dad was always going after the next scheme to make even more money or grow his business, but at the same time, they still weren't close to the Wellington-Lloyd level.

The point is, this doesn't feel right. This isn't who I want to be or what I want to do with my life but I'm doing it because I have to, for now. I'd love to do something that helps people - _really_ helps them. I always think of my parents when I'm dreaming of the future and what would make them proud. Maybe studying other cultures and finding ways to help the native people in different countries. My mom knew medicine but I don't know if that's for me. I like talking to people and helping them with their problems. I've been doing that my whole life so most of my friends always tease me about becoming a counselor. Then there's art - I think it would be cool to be an architect. There are just so many ideas running through my head all the time but none of them involve balancing budgets and financial planning and the stock market. I try and think about how I would advise someone else in my position to just make the best of their current situation but that only makes me think about how I should be a psychologist or something so I'm back to square one.

 _ **Phoebe**_

It all happened so fast, I'm having difficulty believing this is real.

I'm not the only flight attendant on this plane. Karen, an experienced attendant, is tending to the business class as I go up and down the aisles of economy asking the passengers if they need anything. Brian and Amanda, the other attendants, are taking care of the passengers in first class, up front.

They were, at least.

I was pushing a beverage tray down the aisle and serving a cup of orange juice to a burly man with a pleasant smile when I heard the shouting from behind the curtain leading to business class. Karen immediately pops out from behind the curtain as a slew of passengers from the front run frantically into economy class.

For a moment, the air around me is thick with confusion and hysteria but when I see a splotch of blood on one of the passengers shirts, my heart immediately begins to race. Passengers are pushing past me as they try to get as far back as they can and I'm reminded of the blind panic of wild herds of animals who have been spooked. They don't know where they're going, only that they must get _away_ from something. But what was going on?

I manage to reach Karen who is still next to the curtain, motioning for people to go back. Her chest is rising and falling in deep, fast breaths and her eyes are wide and wild.

"Karen, what's happening?"

Before she can answer, I notice my throat feels irritated and my eyes are watering. It is then that I notice some of the incoming passengers are coughing repeatedly, deeply.

"A few men up there," Karen says and I notice her voice sounds raw and scratchy. "They sprayed mace at everyone,"

"What?" I ask, dumbfounded, even as the fumes irritate my own airways. "How -"

"Get to the -" Karen coughs. "Get to the back, Phoebe,"

"We need to -"

"They stabbed them" Karen's voice is hoarse in my ear as she physically turns me around and pushes me down the aisle. "There's blood everywhere, they went to the front," Karen's harsh voice is beginning to break and her fear is palpable.

"Who?" I beg her to answer. My head is spinning with an influx of information that doesn't make sense. There are people struggling to hide behind rows of seats that are already full but Karen doesn't relent - she pushes me through and I stumble over the legs and feet of passengers who are still halfway in the aisle.

We get to the back and Karen pulls the curtain shut before grabbing one of the phones and forcefully dialing.

"Call someone!" She screams and I jump.

"What do I say?" I plead, my own confusion and panic rising. "What happened?"

"Passengers up front," Karen takes a breath to try and slow down but as she inhales, she coughs. I try to suppress my own urge to cough and tune out the sounds of passengers coughing, crying, and shouting. "They sprayed mace and someone slit this guy's throat. Brian and Amanda came back and they stabbed them," Karen said and I could hear her voice trembling even as her face hardened into determination. For a moment, she reminded me of Helga.

"I've gotta get up to them," Karen mumbled under her breath and darted out through the curtain and up the aisle toward business class. The plane jostled and I caught my balance against the wall. Karen had stumbled into one of the seats but was already on the move again. As she disappeared through the curtain, I had this overwhelming inclination to call Gerald. I grabbed the phone on the wall beside me and punched in his phone number. I wasn't sure what to say to him - I certainly didn't want him to worry. Unfortunately, he didn't answer and so I left a message, completing it just as I saw Karen burst through the curtain again with several other passengers and an unconscious child in her arms.

For a moment, I felt stunned. No one ever anticipates this kind of situation happening to them, despite how many emergency training meetings you attend. Like a jolt, I snapped out of my trance and picked up the phone again, dialing operations for assistance.

 _ **Gerald**_

Relaxing wasn't an option, apparently, since Frankie decided he needed to go out. He'd come over to the side of my bed and wouldn't stop whining until I got up.

"Alright, alright," I told him as he started to jump up at me. He was a mutt mixed with Great Dane so on his hind legs he was almost as tall as me. "Come on," I grumbled as I trudged out into the living room in sweatpants and an undershirt. We walked around the block for about fifteen minutes before I took him back inside and decided to jump in the shower.

That initial splash of water both woke me up and relaxed me at the same time. I breathed deeply and the steam filled my nose, sending a surge of warmth into my chest before I exhaled.

I shouldn't be worried or nervous. I know how Phoebe feels about me and she's probably just been wondering what's taken me so long to propose. I soothe my mind with these thoughts as I finish my shower and towel off. I use the side of my fist to wipe away from of the steam from the mirror and debate whether or not I should shave.

 _ **Phoebe**_

"I'm number 3, in the back," I immediately say to the man who answers at operations. Karen is just outside the curtain feeding me information. "The cockpit's not answering and somebody's been stabbed in business class -"

"3 people," Karen barks.

"3 people have been stabbed," I correct myself. "I think there's mace, we can't breathe. I think we're being hijacked," Even as I say the words, it feels as though I am the unfortunate supporting actress in an action movie.

"Which flight are you on?" the man on the phone asks.

"Flight 11," I say as the plane jostles again and I lose my footing, hitting my forehead against the wall.

"What seat are you in?" He asks but my head is swimming for a second and I realize there's now a crack in one of the lenses of my glasses. "Ma'am, are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," I shake myself out of it and respond.

Outside of the curtain, the child that Karen carried back has woken up and is crying in his mother's lap. "What seat are you in?"

"We're -," I start to say, forgetting his question as I answer. "We just left Boston, we're up in the air,"

"Yes, but what seat are you in?" A female's voice asks me and I wonder what happened to the man on the phone.

"We're supposed to go to L.A.," Karen's hoarse voice is like a whisper even though she's standing only a couple feet away. "The cockpit's not answering their phone,"

"We're supposed to go to L.A. and the cockpit isn't answering their phone," I repeat to the woman on the phone.

"Okay, but what seat are you in?" The woman repeats herself and I wonder if she's getting irritated. "What is the number?"

"I'm in my jump seat," I say to her and look for the number. "3R,"

"Okay," She says. "You're the flight attendant?" She says something after that that I can't quite understand as the flight becomes garbled.

"Hello?" I say, praying that I haven't lost them.

"Yes, hello," She says and I sigh in relief.

The man from before comes back on the line and asks me my name.

"My name is Phoebe Heyerdahl," I tell him. "I'm number 3 on flight 11,"

"Okay," He says.

"The cockpit's not answering and someone's been stabbed in business class," I repeat what I told them before. "And there's - we can't breathe in business class. I think someone sprayed mace or something,"

"Can you describe the person that you said -" The man asks. "Someone is what in business class?"

I'm starting to feel impatient going through the questions and my mind is rapidly firing in incoherent ways. It feels like we're wasting time but I know they need this information. I don't know what else I can do.

"No one knows who stabbed who," I tell them, forcing myself to take a deep breath and slow down but the action irritates my lungs and I heave a painful cough.

"We can't get into the cockpit, the door won't open, and Amanda's bleeding pretty bad," Karen pops through the curtain again and just as quickly, darts back out into the cabin.

"We don't - we can't get into the cockpit, the door isn't opening open," I repeat as I scramble around the back looking for first aid kits. There are two in the back with me and one up in first class.

The man starts asking me a question as I dig through the contents of one of the first aid kits, the whole time feeling nauseated from the consistently erratic motions of the plane.

"Okay," I say, trying to force my thoughts to organize. "We can't get into the cockpit, our gallery flight attendant has been stabbed and our purser," There's a quiet pause on the other end of the line. "Hello?"

"Yes," the man says. "I'm taking this all down, and recording, of course. At this point, -"

I gather all of the gauze I can find in the two kits, which isn't much, and shout out to Karen who comes to collect it.

"We can't get in," Karen says and her eyes are bloodshot and watery as she coughs. "I don't know what's happening,"

I nod as the man on the phone is asking me if I'm still on the line. "Yes, yes - we still can't get into the cockpit, we don't know who's in there,"

I continue to answer his questions until I hear a surge of screaming coming from the already chaotic cabin. I look out from behind the curtain and the burly man I served orange juice to earlier is looking out the window and shouting, "We're going down!"

I drop the phone and hurry into the cabin to see for myself what is going on. Outside, I see we're flying dangerously low to the ground and before I'm able to act, there's a loud rumbling noise, screeching and gnawing sounds, a sudden burst of heat, and then everything is dark.

 _ **Gerald**_

As I walk out of the bathroom, I can immediately hear my pager going off like crazy.

Frankie is following me across the apartment, practically tripping me up as I head into my bedroom and pick up the pager. It says '911' and it's from the fire department, telling me I need to come into work today after all.


End file.
